


Rise Up High

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Series: The Glorious People's Republic of the Cafe Musain [3]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (just this once), Death-Fic, Everybody Lives, Gen, but not death-fic, nothing ruffles combeferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre meets a visitor to the barricade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rise Up High

He is lost.

It is very, very embarrassing to be lost, especially when you are _him_. 

It isn't his fault; the directions are unclear. Smudged ink on ancient paper, no street number--not even a _street_ , for that matter.

He'll have to stop and ask someone. He hates doing that--it never goes well, and it usually just makes more work for him in the end.

Oh, well...

* * *

EXCUSE ME.

Combeferre's whole body goes cold. The voice isn't something he _hears_ so much as _feels_. It's the sort of not-voice that should never be allowed to creep up from dreams and freeze your heart in the middle of a warm spring morning. He doesn't look up; he trains his eyes on the desk in front of him. "Can I help you?" he asks, and his voice only trembles a little.

I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT HERE.

 _No_. Not here, not now. They've _won_ , damn it, it isn't _fair_. "Here? No. I'm quite sure you're mistaken."

The figure in front of the desk pulls a crumpled piece of note-paper out of his robes. IT SAYS SO RIGHT HERE: 'AT SOME DISPUTED BARRICADE.'

Combeferre takes the paper, trying not to think about the state of the hand that passes it to him. The paper is brittle, the ink faded.

_I have a rendezvous with Death_  
 _At some disputed barricade,_  
 _When Spring comes back with rustling shade_  
 _And lilac-blossoms fill the air--_

Light glints off something he can't quite see--he's afraid it might be a scythe. He takes a deep breath, hoping it isn't going to be his last. "Well, there's your problem," he says, handing back the note. "We're not _disputed_ anymore, strictly speaking. We're an outpost of the government of the Republic--it's just that our offices are a bit of a shambles right now, as you may have noticed."

A BIT OF A SHAMBLES? The not-voice is dry as bone.

And it's true, Combeferre's desk is sitting in the middle of the street, behind a barricade that's being slowly dismantled as people come to reclaim broken chairs and legless tables. "Yes," he says, as firmly as he dares. "There's a great deal of confusion, of course, considering recent events, but there's no dispute anymore. So you simply must have the wrong barricade."

YES... the not-voice says, seeming skeptical. THEN IT SEEMS I MUST BE GOING.

Combeferre straightens his glasses. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

There is a pause. THAT IS NOT A REACTION I AM ACCUSTOMED TO RECEIVING.

He cannot help but smile. "No. I imagine not." He looks up, meeting blue eyes like distant stars deep beneath the black hood. "I'm sure we'll meet again," Combeferre says, his voice steady.

OH YES, the not-voice says, and there is a faint, rattling _chuckle_ somewhere in the not-sound. I  CAN PROMISE YOU THAT.

**Author's Note:**

> The final part of my Discworld AU--I'm nearly certain this time. Thank you for reading the increasingly weird adventures of the Glorious People's Republic of the Cafe Musain.
> 
> The poem "[I Have a Rendezvous with Death](http://www.bartleby.com/104/121.html)" is by Alan Seeger (1888-1916), a World War I soldier. As such, it should not be present in 1832. I suspect the interference of history monks.
> 
> Also, the fourth line reads _apple-_ blossoms in our universe.


End file.
